


Lick the Pavement

by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Snark and Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8199632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claricechiarasorcha/pseuds/Clarice%20Chiara%20Sorcha
Summary: As if catching his thoughts like a child netting stray butterflies, Ren leaned forward; a moment later he pressed lips to pulse just between jaw and high collar, a gesture dangerously like comfort. “It’s okay,” he panted, soft and low. “I just…I need this.” Now, a light press of teeth. “Just give me this.”

Written for Kinktober's October 3rd prompt of public: in which Ren exposes an entire squadron to an alien substance. It goes about as well as Hux could expect. Or approve of.
(He's lying about that last part.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, like I was saying yesterday, I've been mired in dark places, and then I made myself even more miserable yesterday, so: I decided last night to bang out something ridiculous, specifically prompted by the [Kinktober](http://sparksreactor.tumblr.com/post/151067846307/kinktober) October third prompt of "public." Because I never do these challenges, and I do love it when people are forced to listen to Kylo and Hux being assholes in all sorts of ways. I have no idea if I'll do any more from the the list; feel free to [poke me on tumblr](http://claricechiarasorcha.tumblr.com/), as I really do need to write more. I've really slipped in quality lately. Although this _was_ written in an evening, so. Yeah. Er.
> 
> Title comes from the Garbage song [_Lick The Pavement_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHunLxu7lTY) because I am nineties grunge trash and I've been writing fanfiction to that band for years. This is what happens when you leave things on random. With that said I also had the Massive Attack album [_Mezzanine_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ROrte4MMnrE) going the whole time I was editing. Long reign the bloody nineties, man. [head in hands]

“I don’t actually _want_ to know,” Hux said, clipped tones cut to match the quick staccato of fingertips over screen, “but I suppose I should ask: is Lord Ren amongst the casualties?”

“Well, reports from the squadron commander indicate that he said, and I quote, ‘My helmet is of higher quality than that mass-produced trash on those grunts’ heads, why would I need a pfassking med tech?’”

Masking his sigh seemed pointless, and he flicked to the next of the previous cycle’s reports. He’d been planning to review them at leisure in the privacy of his own quarters. The denied flavour of fine whiskey now lingered like the ghost of a lover over pursed lips.

“Our equipment is of a perfectly acceptable standard,” he said, and tapped the screen to idle mode before sliding it into the pocket of his greatcoat. “Just because it’s not ornately personalised – or calibrated for every aerosolised alien substance in the galaxy, for that matter – hardly makes it _mass-produced trash_.” Turning his attention back to what little could be made through the quarantine unit’s viewport, Hux pinched the bridge of his nose, and wordlessly cursed the beginnings of a fresh headache. “But no matter. It’s one less task for us, and certainly one we wouldn’t have appreciated even if it was our concern.”

He knew it to be unprofessional, undermining his co-commander before their subordinates. Not that he felt in any particular mind to care. Whatever the squadron had been exposed to on this ill-managed mission – and it was impossible to know, given Ren had spirited them away without permission nor precise strike co-ordinates – it appeared to be a short-lived molecule easily metabolised by basic human systems. Unfortunately it had also proved particularly… _potent_. In more ways than just the one.

The low cough from his right indicated the med tech had fresh data to offer. “The sedative appears to be effective in seventy percent of the casualties,” she said, and Hux frowned over the bodies displayed before him – these ones, motionless and unmasked upon their gurneys. They hardly numbered a full complement.

“And the other thirty?”

The pause before she spoke was rather more answer than the actual words themselves. “We’ve given them certain…aids. For comfort. And safety. As such.”

The stern-eyed reflection staring back from behind the transparisteel reminded Hux rather too much of the man who had sired him. Imagining the Commandant’s response to the situation hardly required much imagination. Closing his eyes, Hux breathed in deeply through his nose. “Of course,” he muttered, and retrieved his datapad. The woman slipped away a moment later, not needing his explicit dismissal. Smart girl. He’d make sure to give her some sort of bonus, later. If he ever got around to recalling her name.

 A moment later, all sense of satisfaction or control evaporated. A cascade of comm requests, most from within the last two minutes, flooded his screen. Scowling, nose crinkled as if at some foul stench, he shoved the damned thing once more into the greatcoat’s pocket.

As if summoned by these terrible vibrations of the general’s displeasure, the newest medtech came with a fresh report held before him like a penitent offering weregild to some vengeful god. Hux took it with only faint benevolence, but genuine interest. Some might say such tasks were below a general. Given the chaos of the squadron’s return to the _Finalizer_ , Hux thought it only prudent he remain until the worst of the crisis had passed.

He was still scrolling through the latest individual reports on the borrowed datapad when a new throat cleared. A displeased glance upward found itself matched by the unhappy expression of one Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka.

“Sir,” he said, and became impossibly more miserable with every word, “Kylo Ren is asking to speak with you.”

He blinked, tight and entirely unimpressed. “I am otherwise occupied.” Returning to the next ‘troopers vitals, he allowed his brow to furrow; fatalities looked to be unlikely, but it seemed the damage might be more permanent in other ways. Not that ‘troopers needed that particular appendage to discharge their most common duties. Snorting, he flicked to the next, and did not look up again to the unfortunate spectre still lingering at his side. “Feel free to take a message, Lieutenant. Or tell him to leave one on my comm channel.”

“He said you’re not answering your comm.”

A short snort escaped before he could swallow it back. “Yes, because I said I am busy. I also said he can leave a message. Remind him that the function exists. It appears he may have forgotten.”

“He’s very…insistent.”

The glare Hux fixed the wilting man with now couldn’t match Ren’s choking trick for sheer theatricality, but it still had its own certain influence. “Isn’t he always?”

Despite maintaining a perfect military stance, Mitaka still somehow managed to slope off like a dejected child doomed to a good whipping for crimes committed solely by his peers. Having himself moved well beyond pity sometime long before puberty, Hux rolled his eyes, and went back to his work.

Several status reports later, Hux could not feel terribly surprised to hear the hulking creature’s approach. But rather than his usual deft grace of movement, Ren appeared more wounded juggernaut in full flight – lurching and uncomfortable, though his forward trajectory remained unhindered and in fact heralded nothing more than disaster. The terrible awkwardness of his every movement filled Hux with dismay and disgust both, though he masked all behind his usual expression of mild contempt.

“If you have taken ill, Lord Ren, the med techs are _that_ way.”

He leaned too close, so that even through the mask Hux fancied he could feel the laboured heat of his breath. “I need you.”

Leaning away with the fastidious languid grace of a felinx, Hux kept his eyes fixed forward. “I’m a _general_ , Ren. My medical training doesn’t go beyond field level, and even then it’s on the assumption that qualified personnel will be shortly available.”

“ _You_.”

Hux almost impressed himself with how steadfast he remained, in the reading of reports that now made no sense. “Me, what?”

“I need _you_.”

He should have looked up – because if he had, he might have anticipated Ren’s next movement. Either way, the man struck with preternatural speed, both hands latched about his forearm as he dragged him backward. Hux had been relocated by a full three feet before he even registered Ren’s intent.

Even as he began a pull backward, he didn’t quite fight, not yet. Surprise took precedence – because, for all their extracurricular activities, Ren knew damn well better than to touch him in public. And here he was, all but manhandling him into what looked suspiciously like a supply closest. The datapad slipped from his startled grasp, cracking upon the floor even as Ren shoved the door closed with what must have been the Force given both hands remained vice-like about his wrist.

For all he could feel the fine web of new bruising welling up beneath that pressure, Hux’s more immediate mood tended more towards frank irritation. Ren knew perfectly well Hux didn’t care for such displays outside of their own quarters. “Let me go. Immediately. Ren, what are you _doing_ —”

The clang of the man’s helmet, cast aside, cut him off as accurately as any guillotine’s fall; Hux blinked over at where it rolled upon the floor with something close to alarm. He’d never seen Ren treat the blasted thing with anything but a bizarre reverence. But then, his attention turned sharp to Ren’s high flush, his hair wild and yet somehow not as dark as his eyes. And said eyes were very very black, pupils dilated, shimmering with wild shot-silver even in the dim lighting of the storage room.

Ren had released him, but shelving dug sharp relentless lines into his back, hands rising in involuntary reflex. “Ren, I—”

Such weak defence could do nothing against such a creature. Already Ren had thrust himself upon the general – and with the great broad body pressed against him, Hux could feel his heat burning even through the thickness of robe and tunic. With that came the discovery of just why Ren’s walk had been so peculiar: both belt and trousers hung loose on his hips, already long since undone. With the robes hitched upward, Hux shivered to feel unseen pressures wrenching one glove clear of his right hand. Before he could even think to wonder if the action had sprained one or all of them, Ren’s hand closed about them, caging Hux’s fingers around a very hard cock.

“Oh.” Had the situation been any less ridiculous, he might have laughed. “So your mask’s filters _aren’t_ the very pinnacle of First Order manufacture, then?”

Ren didn’t care. His most immediate goal had already been achieved. “ _Hux_ ,” he groaned. And it was loud. _Too_ loud. Hux’s gaze shot over to the – thankfully well-secured – door, but Ren continued working the general’s hand along his cock, though Hux made no motion to participate himself. With eyes now clenched shut, face contorted somewhere between agony and ecstasy, Ren began an awkward jolting jerk of hips.

The sudden rattle of a thousand objects neatly arrayed around them had Hux glancing around, lip caught beneath the grit of his teeth. He’d seen Ren lose control of his damned powers in the throes of sexual pleasure before, and that more than once. But it came rare enough. And there was nothing normal at all, in any this.

As if catching his thoughts like a child netting stray butterflies, Ren leaned forward; a moment later he pressed lips to pulse just between jaw and high collar, a gesture dangerously like comfort. “It’s okay,” he panted, soft and low. “I just…I need this.” Now, a light press of teeth. “Just give me _this_.”

With no real choice in the matter, Hux first gritted his teeth, and then tightened his grip. A moment later, as if Hux’s active participation were some long-awaited benediction, Ren came sudden and hard. Wordless, hand now limp, Hux let him ride it out; then, as his breath began to even out, he heaved him back. The immediate caustic words died upon his lips as he looked down at his greatcoat, his jacket front.

“Ren, for stars’ sakes!” Aghast, it seemed the white ropes painting them in branded shame only grew all the more obvious by the second. “I can’t go out there like _this_!”

“Good. That’s – I’m – it’s – _good_ ,” Ren said thickly, if somewhat incoherently. “That means…I… _we_ …”

The dreamy voice petered out a moment later, echoing the way his long body drifted down as Ren went to his knees. Mounting horror squirmed low in his gut like parasitic infestation, but Hux was also unable to deny that when Ren yanked his trousers and underclothes down around his knees, at first pass they caught on the burgeoning swell of his own erection.

Then that damned mouth closed hot around his cock, and Hux knew not another coherent thought. His head struck hard against the shelves, stars bursting behind his eyelids in white-out novaburst. Already Ren’s seeking fingers moved back, cupping his ass, slick from some unknown source Hux didn’t want to think too hard on. Frantic hands scrabbled for purchase, for anchor – but neither came easy, not with Ren’s thumb teasing over the tight furl it had found. Against his better sense it already opened for him. But then, Hux always had loved Ren’s hands: oversized, blunt, and so _long_. Hands that knew how to crook and to curve and to tease out Hux’s pleasure from just the places where he wanted it most.

It hid the tremble when he fisted his own hand in the dark shock of hair, pulled tight. “Stop it.”

Oddly enough, Ren did, leaning back. But then he had never been the type to come to any duel unarmed. With hair in riotous disarray, eyes bright and too wide by half – but oh, none of that compared to his damned mouth, lips swollen and flushed, and a trail of precome caught on his chin.

“Are you sure?” he asked, innocent – almost child-like, and such a terrible thought that made for such a moment. But: with broad shoulders and scarred skin, Kylo Ren was very much a man. A man on his knees. A man who had had a cock in his mouth but a moment before, and looked very much as though he’d like it back there again now.

“I’ve gone mad,” Hux said allowed, wondering, dismayed. And Ren actually chuckled, damn him.

“It’s all right, General.” Already his breath ghosted over the trembling, tender head of his cock. “I’m here with you, too.”

And Ren knew him altogether too well. They had long ago negotiated the terms of this arrangement, and Hux had made it clear from the beginning that Ren could either stay out of his mind, or keep the hell out of his ass. But for all Ren often relied on his mystic powers in other arenas, the man often proved surprisingly intuitive. Ren could sense much from even the small tells Hux permitted him. In that he might take him all to pieces even when Hux had not realised he had made a puzzle to be undone.

His left hand, still gloved, closed over his own mouth. The taste of leather came both soft and bitter; the bite marks would remain long after this moment. Yet another pair ruined by Ren’s careless whims. But petty requisitions were still better than shouting, even as he ached to do so – for the tidal slam of his release hit him but a moment later, hips jerking in desperate stutter, eyes clenched shut and burning with the sting of saltwater. Even as he subsided his knees turned weak, leaving him dreading the terrible reality that he might actually slip to the floor.

Ren’s strong hands held tight on his hips, holding him still, holding him upright. Working with surprising quiet efficiency, the man spoke only in light little hums as he licked Hux clean; every swipe of his tongue sent aftershocks through him, shivering sweet delight. Then he set back on his heels, cocked an eyebrow. Hux could have slapped him.

Instead he cradled his own head between his hands, stared down at Ren’s growing – and alarmingly _fond_ grin – and supposed that if anyone needed a slap upside the head at that particular moment, he’d best be starting at the top of the ranks.

“There’s no way I can go back out there,” he said, more to himself than the fool on his knees before him. “Not looking like this. Not after all that… _noise_.”

The pragmatism in Ren’s reply held a peculiar charm he’d not been expecting. “There’s always reconditioning.” Rising, now, Ren shook his hair back; Hux’s throat turned very dry, to watch the stretch of sweat-slick skin over broad muscle. “Or the Force,” Ren mused, and overextended in such a way that Hux just _knew_ the bastard preened for him. “I know how the Force works, you know.”

“I’m not sure you do,” he snapped back, though without true heat. “But…” A moment later, that inbred instinct to take any battlefield blazing deserted him quite utterly. “…oh, _whatever_.”

Ren’s hands came to rest upon his shoulders, voice low and rising. “I can do whatever?”

His eyes slipped closed, head lowered, body turned quite the traitor indeed. “I give up.”

One crooked finger pressed beneath his chin, and Hux found himself forced to look up and into those dark eyes. Below them floated a terrible smile – one caught tight in a fine web of violence and desire. Hux quite expected to be turned around, bent over, fucked hard until Ren’s system burned through the poison he’d taken with Hux’s own men.

And yet, he did not a one of those things. Rather, Hux found himself pulled forward, pushed back against the cold planes of the locked door. His feet cleared the floor a moment later, though Ren’s hands were fixed only at his waist. Trousers and underclothes were ripped away, and then: Ren snatched him into in his arms even as Hux twisted legs around his waist, cock buried deep before Hux had even realised their position.

Ren came first, of course; Hux did not think he could come again, not so soon after the last. But for all Ren had all but sucked his balls dry, Hux found himself pushed hard over the same precipice but moments later. He hadn’t even known that was possible for him. Clenching fists in those tattered robes, gasping against his throat, Hux shuddered with the terrible knowledge that Ren was still hard – and that he himself could come again.

That he _wanted_ to come again.

“You’re not going to let me inject you with a sedative, are you?” he said, resigned and ravenous both, and Ren’s fingers dug deeper into his waist.

“Why would I need a sedative?” Blurred and bleary as the words were, Hux could hear genuine curiosity. And Ren’s left hand, lazy as it was, tightened on his hip with a possessiveness that promised it would surrender to no challenge. “I have _you_ ,” he added, and Hux sighed.

**_I_** _also have a headache coming on_ , but he didn’t say it aloud. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t heard of one very particular cure for headaches.

And it was perhaps only appropriate that Kylo Ren seemed more than willing to administer said cure for as long as he might ever want.


End file.
